


The Napkin

by RascalJoy (DarkQuill)



Category: The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Angst, Back at Camp Half-Blood, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-20 10:13:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4783607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkQuill/pseuds/RascalJoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor trudged over to the sacrificial flame, preparing to dump his leftovers in when a flash of white caught his eye. In disbelief, he watched a napkin materialize right in the center of the fire, blowing upward with the smoke and floating gently down to the ground at his feet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Napkin

**Author's Note:**

> Cross posted from Fanfiction.net.
> 
> Original publish date: 2-1-14

Connor stood in the burnt offerings line, awaiting his turn to toss his customary bag of peanut M&Ms into the fire.

He stared into the flickering flames as camper after camper scraped part of their meal into the brazier, each praying for something from the gods. He couldn't help but wonder where the food went after it got burned. Sure it was probably burned to ashes, but he couldn't help but think that there was something else to it; like there was really a place the food went. Was there an Underworld for burnt offerings?

He shook the silly thought from his mind. Sometimes ADHD gave you the strangest mental pictures.

He reached the front of the line and tossed his bag of candy into the fire.

"Hermes," he murmured. He hesitated slightly, watching the plastic and chocolate melt into a swirling puddle of icky goop before vanishing all together. The smoke smelled wonderful, as always, but there was something there that Connor couldn't quite place: maybe paper? He dismissed it as a figment of his imagination, shuffling off toward his table as the next Hermes camper moved to take his place in the line.

Connor plopped down next to his brother, taking a big bite of his slice of pizza.

"Hey, Connor," Travis whispered, although he wasn't looking at him.

Connor continued to stare at his pizza, pretending to pick off a particular topping he didn't like. He and his brother had come up with a system over the years: never let anyone see them whispering in public. Because they were the pranksters of the camp, they had to be careful not to let anyone know they were planning something. Since whispering to each other always ended up with Clarisse tackling them and holding her dagger to their throats yelling "Oh no, you don't!" they had to make sure they were careful whenever they shared ideas. "Yeah," he muttered back.

"I've been thinking," Travis murmured back, popping an olive into his mouth.

Normally, that would immediately catch Connor's attention. Now, however, he only felt dread. "Dude," he said, facing his brother, "as much as I want to prank the summer away, the Romans will be here any day now. We can't cause any delay into the war preparations, or we might become more than just Clarisse's punching bag."

Travis turned to look at him too. "I never said it was a prank idea, did I?" he said.

Connor looked at his brother, confused. "It's always a prank idea," he said. "Especially when you don't look at me when you talk."

Travis's gaze shifted back down to his plate. "Yeah, well, I wasn't sure if it would be a good idea to let the whole camp know."

Connor's curiosity was instantly piqued. "What?" he asked. "Why?"

Travis stared down at his plate, suddenly interested in the unembellished rim.

Connor began to feel nervous. He had never seen his brother act like this before. The look in his eyes was almost…nervous.

"I had this dream last night," Travis said finally.

Connor raised an eyebrow, not really surprised. Demigods always had freaky dreams, so it's not like they were uncommon. "And?" he prompted. "It wasn't the one with the headless chicken chasing you around in your underwear again, was it?"

Travis met his eyes, and Connor sort of regretted bringing _that_ one up. But then, he was Travis's younger brother; prank partners or no, he still enjoyed doing what little brothers do best: annoying their older siblings.

"No," Travis said. "It was much worse."

Connor's eyebrows scrunched together. "Was he making you do the hokey pokey?"

"Dude, seriously."

"Okay, okay," Connor relented. "Just tell me what it is already."

Travis took a shaky breath. "I think…I think Percy and Annabeth are in trouble."

Connor's eyebrows shot up. "They're always in trouble."

"No," Travis insisted, "I mean, more than usual."

"What was your dream?" Connor demanded impatiently, enunciating each word.

Travis idly ran his finger around the lip of his goblet. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "But they were falling. Falling, falling, in complete darkness. And then, a red light began to glow below. I saw what might have been a river, and rocky black plains. The air was filled with a red mist, like…like blood. Just as they were about to hit the bottom, I woke up."

He looked helplessly at his brother. "I don't know what it means, but I just know that they're in big trouble."

Connor stared at him uncomprehendingly. "That makes no sense," he said finally.

Travis sighed. "I know. That's what driving me crazy. Do you think we should tell Chiron?"

"Nah," Connor said, "we shouldn't worry him anymore than necessary, with the coming war with the Romans, and all."

Travis nodded, but still looked unsure.

"Hey, man, you're thinking too much," Connor said, trying to sound reassuring. "It's probably nothing."

Travis studied him. "Do you really think that?"

Connor hesitated. "No," he admitted.

They finished the rest of their dinner in awkward silence, the chattering of their half brothers and sisters not drawing them in like it usually did.

Connor stared at his still mostly full dinner plate, suddenly not feeling very hungry. Travis's dream had shaken him more than he was willing to let on. What if it was real?

He remembered the latest Great Prophecy, having been set in motion just a couple months after the first Great Prophecy had been fulfilled:

 _Seven half-bloods shall answer the call_  
To storm or fire the world must fall  
An oath to keep with a final breath  
And foes bear arms to the Doors of Death

Although a good majority of it made no sense to Connor, the lines still sent chills up and down his spine. The Doors of Death _definitely_ didn't sound good. Neither did the world falling to storm or fire, or keeping an oath with a final breath.

Leo was the fire dude. Was it possible that he would burn down the world somehow? Connor knew the guy wouldn't do something like that on purpose, but then the last fire user who had burned down most of London probably hadn't meant to do that either.

Then there were Percy and Jason. They were obviously the storm people. Boy, did that son of Zeus give him the creeps. He acted _way_ too perfect for Connor's liking, compared to Percy who broke the rules on a daily basis. The two were so different, yet so alike, it gave him vertigo. They were both good leaders in their own way, but Connor would follow Percy to the end. Jason—not so much.

Connor could tell that Annabeth didn't exactly trust the guy, which kind of gave him good reason not to either. Sure Jason was pretty nice to him and Travis after they filled his bed with shaving cream, but the fact that he was one of the Romans who were getting ready to attack camp didn't exactly make Connor want to hitch a ride on his plane.

He snapped out of his thoughts as the campers around him began filing out of the dining pavilion, dumping their empty plates into a bin as they left.

He cursed silently, scrambling off the bench and snatching his full plate off the table.

"Oh my gods, I'm turning into Annabeth," he grumbled. "I'm not supposed to think so much."

He glanced down at all the extra food on his plate, then turned toward the brazier in the center of the floor. Eh, why not.

He trudge over to the sacrificial flame, preparing to dump his leftovers in when a flash of white caught his eye.

In disbelief, he watched a napkin materialize right in the center of the fire, blowing upward with the smoke and floating gently down to the ground at his feet.

Completely forgetting his plate, he knelt down and scooped up the napkin, staring in shock at the glowing bronze words written on its surface:

_Connor,_

_Give this to Rachel. Not a prank. Don't be a moron._

_Love,  
Annabeth_

Connor dropped his plate.

"What is it?" Travis asked, coming up behind him. "What's wrong?"

Connor didn't answer. Instead, he bolted out of the pavilion, heading for the Oracle's cave on Half-Blood Hill. He raced across the grass, ignoring his brother's shouts behind him as he plowed his way up the face of the mighty hill marking Camp Half-Blood's boundary. His heart pounding, he stopped outside the rocky opening at the top, doubling over as he struggled to regain his breath. He reached up to knock on the rock, but then the curtain that served as a door was pulled aside.

Connor found himself looking up into the bright green eyes of Rachel Elizabeth Dare, her frizzy red hair sticking out in all directions as if she'd just rolled out of bed.

She stuck out her hand. "The note, please."

Connor handed it over to her, slightly unnerved that the Oracle had known about the napkin.

Rachel glanced over the message on the front, then flipped it over. As she read, her face turned as white as the napkin, her many freckles sticking out in sharp contrast.

"Where did you find this?" she hissed.

"Uh, in the brazier in the dining pavilion," Connor said.

Rachel closed her eyes, leaning against the rocky wall beside her for support.

"What does it say?" Connor asked hesitantly.

Rachel took a shaky breath. "I need to think." She turned abruptly, storming into the cave and whisking the curtain closed behind her.

Connor stared at the curtain. What had been so horrible that Rachel didn't wanted to talk about it?

* * *

 

Inside the cave, Rachel read the message on the napkin over and over again, making sure she hadn't somehow misunderstood it:

_Dear Rachel,_

_I don't have much time. Long story short, I followed the Mark of Athena and found the Athena Parthenos. The statue is the key to healing the rift between the Greeks and Romans. I need you to contact Reyna, the praetor of Camp Jupiter, and convince her to follow the path of the_ Argo II _. Tell her that only a Roman leader can bring Athena to Half-Blood Hill in order to heal the grudge between the camps. The_ Argo II _is currently on its way too Epirus, Greece, heading for the mortal side of the Doors of Death. In the recovery of the statue, Percy and I fell into Tartarus, and we are hopefully on our way to the other side of said Doors.  
May the Fates give you better luck than ours._

_Love,  
Annabeth_

_P.S. Thanks for the peanut M &Ms, Connor. Bob loved them._

Rachel set the napkin carefully onto a small corner table before pacing the entrance of her cave.

Annabeth was asking for a lot: assuming Rachel could even find the leader of the Romans, there was no guarantee Reyna would even listen. And if she would hear her, there was no way of knowing if Reyna would take on the task. That would probably be the most dangerous part of this mission: Reyna's reaction to a complete stranger practically demanding her to go on a death-defying solo quest to heal the rift between the two camps.

Rachel ran a hand through her hair, realizing that she'd been muttering her thoughts aloud. She clamped her mouth shut, turning to stare at the crumpled napkin on the table. "Demigods," she sighed, "and their stupid quests."

She headed over to a small dresser in the corner, opening the top drawer and removing the single item inside. She smirked as she examined her favorite blue plastic hairbrush: the one that she'd thrown at the Time Lord's eye. She slipped it into her pocket.

She walked back to the napkin, picking it up and carefully folding it before putting that in her pocket as well.

She took a deep breath and ducked outside of the curtain, nearly colliding with someone outside.

"Ah!" Connor Stoll yelped, jumping back a good five feet.

"Sorry," Rachel said, pushing past him.

"Wait!" Connor cried. "What did the napkin say?"

Rachel turned slowly to study the demigod, wondering how much she should tell him. It wouldn't do for the whole camp to know that Percy and Annabeth were in Tartarus; widespread panic would certainly ensue. Finally, she came to a decision. "Thank you for the peanut M&Ms."

She whirled around and sprinted toward the forest to find Grover, leaving a very confused son of Hermes in her wake.


End file.
